| SPC is the hardest clique
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| DBX don’t give a fuck ‘cause you a star that’s rich
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| When it comes to flow, we are the shit
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| We started this from the darkened mist
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| This Texas chainsaw slaughter shit
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| AC Chill is who I’m mobbing with
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| Gangsta NIP don’t even trip on who he squabbing with
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| We hard to hit and still on niggas talking shit
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| PSK gon' grab your jaw and twist
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| Point Blank gon' fuck you, bitch, even though your father’s strict
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| We are the risk when you target ditch, your car get hit
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| Now spark and spit, you’re dumped in the darkest ditch
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| And five-o ain’t solving shit
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| They acting fraudulent when we walk into the park to sit
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| You wanna snitch on DBX, I beg your pardon, bitch
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| If you don’t give a fuck, nigga, then throw it up
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| If your clique be coming down, nigga, then throw it up
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| If your clique be popping trunk, nigga, then throw it up
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| If you fuck with SPC, nigga, you know you fucked, man
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| Hold up, nigga
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| The diabolical, dead hair follicles cause baldness
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| Mass murder’s what you call this
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| What determines which clique’s the hardest
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| What makes the hardest rap artist the motherfucker that stays the same
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| regardless
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| From ‘8−6 to 2G
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| Just take a long look at me
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| I ain’t Ginuwine but I’m the same fucking G
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| Still hoop and Macgregor, still kick a rhyme whenever
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| Down to flip or fuck some hoes
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| Still down for whatever
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| The hardest motherfucking clique coming straight out the Park
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| And get your head split bitch ‘cause this axe blade sharp
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| And keep it like that, nigga, the game is real
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| You must be sick if you think a psychopath won’t kill
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| Now let me take a second just to tell you what I’m about
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| And try to everybody in this bitch no doubt
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| You want a nigga to run inside this bitch and handle his business
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| You want a nigga to run inside this bitch and murder the witness
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| And move something motherfucker, the psych might do ya
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| (*mouth sound*) just like some sand when the wind went through ya
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| Don’t give a motherfuck, nigga, the pallbearer’s inside
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| Adding up the money he would make if six niggas died
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| Playboy, it’s whatever, whenever, however you want it
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| Been on that other level, nigga, quick to severe opponents
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| So fuck the world, shit trick, me and my clique forever on it
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| They call us hustle gang vest, these youngsters caught up in the moment
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| You heard’a me, same nigga set up shop and hooked it with cookies that weighed
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| I got niggas that watch my figures, tryna murder me
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| Miss me with it, I’m SPC, playboy, since '93
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| This for the ballers and the geekers, the crawlers and the creepers
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| The 20 inch skaters, the park bench haters
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| Capping but you can’t fade us, bitch, you down in your gators
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| Slap a nigga for practice, bad actors major factors
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| These the niggas I started with (Now what?)
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| That SPC, best believe that we the hardest clique
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| Point Blank was richer with the crumbs before you got the bricks
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| I’m the one when I hold three trigger your face, I slap the bitch
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| I put our load on top of my load and I ran with it
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| The same shit you rap about hate to see me live it
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| Now who the fuck you was talking about in that rhyme you spit?
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| All that giggling shit, think a nigga ain’t listening to yo ass, boy
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| Give me some space before I slap you with my dick
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| You worse than a dry pussy bitch, can’t even get my finger wet, and yeah
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| Back in high school, I heard you was a punk
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| Always calling home, «Mama, mama, help, they tryna beat me up!»
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| I metamorphosize into a new advanced fully enhanced
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| Super brain hurricane against the grain, see futures at a glance
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| Take a chance with the hood professor but don’t try to wreck
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| Be 34 and rap opponents 30 styles and 30 dialects
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| No mouth popping if you ever say my clout dropping
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| Watch me run a thousand laps around your ass without stopping
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| Proceeding to rip a style, I verbally trip a while
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| And smile and whip a pile of hoes, hit ‘em, they flip a mile
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| You played with K-Rino, stayed with it for days
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| Made your face look like a grenade, hit it 400 ways
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| You holler, «Why me?» |
| I called his house, I knew he was home
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| His caller ID said, «Man, you better not pick up that phone»
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| Poets are prolific, proportioning, posing paralysis
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| Critical writer, verse wrote when existing didn’t exist
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| Crash the show and scared the coldest rhymesayers to death
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| Even the motherfucking microphone shit on itself
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| I’m with the hardest clique |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Hardest Click , by - K Rino. Song from the album Ten Year Run 1993-2003, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп